


Mike's Pregnant

by TheAnnoyingAlien



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, I didn't try at all with this fic, I just wanted to poke fun at Trump on his first day in office, M/M, Mpreg, Parody, here everyone have a dumbass crack fic based off a trashy tv show, or if you've watched the episode, sort of you'll understand when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 22:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9404828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnnoyingAlien/pseuds/TheAnnoyingAlien
Summary: A crack fic inspired by an episode of the adult version of The Ren & Stimpy Show. Donald Trump learns that his husband Mike Pence is pregnant, and the two prepare for the not so blessed event.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t try at all with this fic honestly, I wrote it in like one day and wrote it solely for the purposes of poking fun at Trump and Pence. Hopefully this trash gives everyone a laugh and makes inauguration day a little less unpleasant.

This story is dedicated to mothers everywhere  
For it is mothers who through their agonies bring us into the world  
They nurture, care for, and love us  
They mold us into the unique individuals we are  
They fix our toupees when they are askew  
And they hold us when we are distressed  
They hide their own torments to succor ours.  
In this history making fanfiction, it is our great delight and pleasure to introduce Michael Richard Pence in his groundbreaking role as Donald Trump’s baby daddy.  
Pence’s sensitive, sometimes comical portrayal takes us through the trials, humor, and joys of bringing a child through pregnancy to the actual moment of childbirth.  
The author of this piece of shit fanfiction would like to urge you to consider Pence for Best Actor in the Role of the Husband of an Evil Bewigged Cheeto Puff.  
And finally, thank you mothers everywhere  
Make motherhood great again!

Our story begins during the early morning hours at Trump Tower in New York. In the tower’s penthouse, a certain Republican presidential candidate and his running mate were fast asleep in their bed together. Donald Trump was lying on one side of the bed, curled up in a ball with a satisfied grin on his heavily spray tanned face. Mike Pence was lying on the bed’s other side with his hands resting atop his stomach, snoring loudly. They were both peaceful and cozy, but the quiet, comforting sereneness would not last for long. Pence suddenly started to toss and turn in his sleep, and he groaned, clutching his stomach. He felt like he was going to hurl and abruptly shot up in bed, clamping one hand over his mouth to keep from puking all over the sheets and on Trump. He couldn’t make it to the bathroom and instead dashed out onto the balcony, where he promptly puked over the railing. Meanwhile, in front of the Trump Tower entrance on the streets below, Hillary Clinton and Tim Kaine were making out. Hillary had her hand on Tim's crotch, rubbing it gently, and he was groping one of her breasts. They leaned in to kiss each other, but Tim happened to glance up and saw Pence's vomit falling from above.

"Holy smokes!" He exclaimed, and he and Hillary just barely moved themselves out of the way before the vomit could hit them. It splattered on the ground instead, leaving a nasty puddle. Tim was beyond pissed-that was the third time this week that they'd nearly gotten covered in bodily fluids and excrement from above while making out on the street! "That's it! We're moving away from this craphole!" He declared. He hooked one of his arms around Hillary’s waist and angrily stomped off with her in tow. Meanwhile, back on the balcony Pence had finally finished heaving and wiped the remnants of vomit from his mouth with his hand. He licked his hand clean of puke and, still feeling kind of woozy, he weakly dragged himself back into bed with Trump and attempted to go back to sleep. Trump hadn’t budged since he’d left; the Republican nominee was still peacefully snoozing beneath the sheets. Pence felt another wave of nausea hit him; he grabbed his stomach and started groaning loudly. Trump stirred in his sleep but did not awaken. Pence let out another loud cry, pitching forward a bit in discomfort. He continued whimpering and whining and wailing until eventually Trump's eyes jutted open. He looked annoyed and glared menacingly at Pence, balling his hands into fists.

"You idiot! You woke me up in the middle of a perfect dream!" Trump yelled at him. He drew one of his arms back, looking as if he was going to deliver a hard punch to his spouse.

"Don't you lay a hand on me!" Pence huffed, poking Trump in the nose before resting his hands on his hips. Trump’s glare remained, and he still looked as if he was going to sock Pence in the face. "Not in my condition." The vice presidential candidate mused, rubbing his stomach in a tender manner and gazing down at it with a small smile on his face. Trump looked down at his belly, feeling confused.

"Condition? What condition?" He inquired suspiciously. Pence placed his hands over his mouth, looking as if he had just said something he shouldn't have. Then he broke down crying.

"I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO TELL YOU!" He sobbed melodramatically. Trump was still perplexed.

"Tell me what?" He prodded further, getting annoyed with his spouse’s evasiveness. Pence seemed apprehensive and stared back down at his stomach; he placed one of his hands on it and looked back up at Trump as if he wanted to tell him something but just couldn't bring himself to say it. "Spit it out, man!" Trump demanded, growing impatient. Feeling like it was now or never, Pence grabbed Trump by the shoulders and prepared to reveal his secret.

"I'm gonna have YOUR BABY!" He announced loudly. Trump's eyes widened in shock and horror. He didn't want a baby!

"WHAT!? I'll take care of that!" He declared. He got out of bed and ran into the closet, returning a few seconds later with a coat hanger in his hand. Trump tried to jam it up Pence's ass in a crude attempt to abort the baby but Pence let out a loud shriek and quickly snatched it away from him.

"NO! Don't you dare put that nasty instrument in me!" He cried, tossing the coat hanger out of a nearby window.

"You said you used protection!" Trump yelled, pointing accusingly at Pence.

"I thought I was barren..." Pence admitted. Thinking he was infertile, he hadn't used any contraceptives. Trump was beyond pissed; he looked as if he was going to whoop Pence's ass up and down the street for being untruthful with him. Pence thought for a moment, ruminating over how Trump could've possibly gotten him pregnant despite him supposedly being sterile. He was struck with an idea and a smile lit up his face. "You must have powerful seed!" He suggested, trying to cheer Trump up. Trump was unfazed; in fact he looked even more furious than before. Pence frowned and tears poured from his eyes. "Forgive me Donald!" He begged, grabbing Trump and sobbing into his chest. Trump quickly shoved him away to the other side of the bed.

"Get away from me!" He screamed, wanting nothing to do with him. He shot one last angry glare Pence's way and turned away from him, sitting on the bed's edge looking despondent.

"Crap! Crap! Crap!" He grumbled. "I’m seventy years old and I have five kids already! I can’t have a sixth!" He exclaimed. Pence just sat there and blinked forlornly. Why was his husband so upset?

"Calm down, Donald!" He advised, trying to soothe the frazzled man. He reached out and puckered his lips for a kiss, but Trump didn't kiss him. He slowly turned to face Pence, his eyes seething with rage.

"Calm down!? CALM DOWN!? YOU ASK ME TO CALM DOWN!?" He yelled, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. Pence blinked confusedly; Trump pointed at him and kept his glare. "You're the one that's p-p-POISONED!" He snapped before turning around to face away from Pence once again. Pence looked hurt; he rested his hands on his hips and frowned.

"Poisoned? Is that what you call it?" He asked, scooting closer to Trump. Trump still didn't look at him, but he didn't try shoving Pence away. "That poison is our love child!" Pence pointed out, placing a hand on Trump's shoulder. Trump glared at him and he removed his hand, his bottom lip quivering a bit. Trump grunted angrily and faced away again, Pence placed his hands on the candidate's shoulders and started rubbing them in an attempt to soothe him. "Just think Donald, there could be another little you running around here." He mused, trying to cheer up his husband. Trump's glare softened and he turned to face Pence once more.

"Yeah? You think he'll look like me?" He inquired, seeming to have calmed down a bit.

"Oh, he'll look exactly like you!" Pence exclaimed, throwing his hands up with enthusiasm. Trump's eyes widened in curiosity and he smiled a bit.

"Will he be a little asshole just like me?" He asked, growing more interested.

"Oh, I promise!" Pence replied.

"Can we gang up on you?" Trump asked once more.

"That's what mothers are for!" Pence said in an inappropriately cheerful tone as he gestured to himself. Trump thought for a moment, then a wicked grin crossed his face.

"We'll keep the little bastard!" He announced, slapping his knee for emphasis. Pence's face lit up, he couldn't be happier.

"Yay!" He squealed. Then he wrapped his arms around Trump and started kissing him senseless. Trump got annoyed.

"Okay okay, enough mush! Let's see the little rascal!" He said as he shoved Pence onto his back and spread his legs apart. He couldn't help but laugh at Trump's attempt to see the child.

"Oh come on Donald, he doesn't even have a spine yet!" He giggled. Trump momentarily raised his head from between Pence's legs and shot him an unamused look.

"As if you do!" He huffed before sticking his head back down there. He smiled. "Come on little Donald, where are you? I see you in there, come on out! Say hi to Daddy! Come on, where are you? Come on out. Here boy, come on, say hi to Daddy! Come on baby, come and say hi. I love you!" Trump started whispering sweetly to Pence's ass. While this was going on, several woodland animals and birds had perched on the railing of the balcony and were acting all lovey dovey like in some cliché romantic movie, and a group of clouds shaped like a heart formed behind Trump Tower. Pence and Trump were elated about their impending parenthood, and it seemed like the rest of New York was mirroring their excitement.

Several months later, Pence was heavily pregnant and showing quite a bit. He had abandoned his usual suits for maternity dresses; the one he was wearing at the moment was blue with a yellow flower pattern. Trump and Pence were in the tower’s living room; Pence was shoveling coal into the fireplace while Trump lounged on the couch, smoking a cigarette and talking to someone on the phone.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be a dad again." He spoke into the receiver, taking a puff on his cigarette. The person on the other end said something in reply, and Trump smiled. "That's right, there's going to be another little me around the house! Pretty cool huh?" He announced excitedly as he put his cigarette out and set it in a nearby ashtray. The person on the other end said something else, most of it was inaudible cartoony phone chatter, but Pence's name was heard amongst the squeaky chatter noises. Trump's eyes widened in surprised, then narrowed in annoyance. "Mike!? He had nothing to do with it! His bush doesn't bear fruit! I had to do the job all by myself, just like I always do! Isn't that right, Mike?" He replied, reclining back on the couch and glancing over at Mike by the fireplace.

"That's right goading daddy!" Pence agreed as he shoveled some more coal into the fire. It was a strenuous job for a pregnant person to be doing, but Pence didn't mind doing it and Trump didn't really seem to give a shit about his condition anyways.

"Stoke that fire, bitch!” Trump snapped harshly. Mike paused for a moment, then he smiled lovingly at his spouse.

"I love you too!" He gushed. He kept shoveling coal into the fire as Trump returned to his conversation.

"I have to do everything around here!" He complained into the phone. "Now where was I? Oh yeah! Do you know how many other men tried to impregnate that barren wasteland? There's the milkman, the mailman, the refrigerator repairman... that Jehovah's Witness bastard!" Trump counted off the other men that had done the nasty with Pence, smacking his hand down once for each man he named.

"Don't forget that boyscout troop!" Mike called out. Trump looked out the window; Mike was outside pushing a lawnmower around on the street for some reason even though the tower had no lawn. Trump recalled the time when Pence had a depraved kinky orgy with a boy scout troop.

"That's right! Not even those strapping young lads could seed that soil! It took a real man to put a brat in there! Yep, my bullets were firing that day!" He laughed, pretending to shoot a gun with his free hand. Then, he suddenly felt the need for a beer. Not wanting to get it himself, he decided to call upon his spouse. He got up and went out onto the balcony. "MIIIIIIIIKE!" He yelled down to Pence. Pence, who was still in the middle of mowing the “lawn”, shut off the lawnmower and looked up at him. Trump frowned and limply dangled his arms over the balcony railing. "Can't an expectant father get a goddamn beer around here?" He lamented dramatically.

"Coming right up, Daddy!" Pence replied eagerly. He abandoned mowing the lawn and tried to reenter Trump Tower, but he found that the doors were locked. Not giving up on his quest to give his husband a beer, Pence decided to climb the side of the building so he could perhaps enter through an open window or make his way onto a balcony. He rushed to the store to buy suction cups and proceeded to try and scale the building like he was Stephen Rogata. It wasn't the safest thing for a heavily pregnant man to be doing, but he was determined to satisfy Trump, no matter the risk to himself. Trump was his life; Trump was his everything. As Pence struggled to haul his pregnant ass up the side of the tower, Trump had plopped down back in his seat and was yammering on about his masculinity and virility on the phone.

"I'll admit it, I was a little rusty at first. But once I got into it, I had Mike begging like a Catholic girl on prom night!" Suddenly, Pence climbed in through a nearby window and flopped down onto the floor, tired and sweaty from the long climb up. He decided to rest for a minute before getting Trump his beer, but Trump was getting impatient. "Hey!" Pence looked up and saw Trump pointing to his mouth and dramatically pretending that he was dying of thirst. His performance was so melodramatic and over the top that it would've made even the hammiest actor proud. Pence gasped-he needed to get his husband some beer, and fast! He sped into the kitchen to retrieve one. "Hustle, hustle!" Trump called out after him, snapping his fingers. In no time at all, Pence had returned with a can of beer. He held it out for Trump, Trump smiled approvingly and took it from him. Pence was feeling in a romantic mood, so he puckered his lips and leaned in for a kiss. Trump gave him a disgusted look. "Mike, I'm on the phone!" He snapped. Pence felt deflated and frowned, but he understood. Trump didn't have time to smooch right now, he was busy. Trump cracked open the can of beer and took a sip, but he instantly spit it back out. "MIKE! This beer is warm!" He whined. He couldn't drink warm beer! Pence, who had started pushing a large grand piano to a different area of the living room, immediately stopped what he was doing.

"Oh my heavens!" He gasped as his dress flew up to expose the panties he was wearing. "I'm sorry honey!" With that, he jumped out the window, embarking on a new quest to find Trump some cold beer.

"Be careful." Trump called out halfheartedly. Then, he went back to talking on the phone. Meanwhile, Pence was on his epic journey to find some nice icy cold beer for his beloved. He had somehow ended up in Vermont and was currently canoeing down some dangerous whitewater rapids. Pence didn't question why there was a random dangerous river in Vermont; he knew that TheAnnoyingAlien was just taking some creative license with her pointless shitty parody fic. Some socialists were hiding in the bushes at the rivers’ edge; they started throwing Bernie Sanders merchandise at him. Pence panicked and started paddling faster and faster, just narrowly dodging being hit with a mug with a graphic of Bernie in a flower crown emblazoned on it. Then, somehow he wound up in Alaska and was hiking through the icy, windblown wilderness. Pence was disappointed-he couldn’t see Russia from here! Eventually, he came across Sarah Palin, who was frozen in some snow and ice with a bottle of beer in her hand. Pence didn’t know how she got there and he didn’t really care, he was just glad that he had found a nice cold beer for Trump. He took out a hammer and a chisel and began chipping away at the ice block that Palin was encased in; eventually he chipped off the beer-as well as Palin’s frozen hand. Thinking Trump wouldn't mind the hand that much, he left Palin, still stuck in the ice and minus a limb, and headed off back to New York to bring the beer to his beloved. Back at Trump Tower, Trump was still talking on the phone.

“My seed! ALL MINE!” Trump screeched into the receiver. “I’M A STUD! YOU HEAR ME? A SUPER STUD!”

“That’s right, Donald!” Trump heard a voice say. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Pence standing there, beer in hand. “Your boys sure can swim!” Pence beamed, presenting him with the beer. Trump jumped up on the coffee table and started beating his chest and hollering like he was Tarzan in order to emphasize his macho manliness and virility, though he grew hoarse from all the yelling and coughed and sputtered a bit before falling back into his seat. He grabbed the beer from Pence and decided to wrap up his phone call.

“Yep! I’m the king! No asshole can resist my throbbing manhood! Well it was nice talking to you Melania… you old bitch!” Trump muttered the last part under his breath after slamming the phone down and hanging up. Trump grinned a satisfied grin and took a swig of the beer, followed by a loud, satisfied belch. Pence gazed upon him with a mixed look of sadness and pride, clasping his hands together in front of his chest.

“Gee this must be a hard time for you, Daddy! I’m proud of how you’re handling it!” He said. Trump stared blankly at him for a second, then shrugged.

“It’s my burden.” He replied. Then he chugged some more beer.

“Uh, Donald?” Pence asked. “May I finish moving the piano now?” Trump eyed him carefully for a second, scratching his chin with the top of the beer bottle as he thought.

“Go ahead.” He finally decided. Pence’s face lit up with pure joy.

“Eeeee! You wonderful man!” He exclaimed happily. He continued pushing the piano to a different area of the room as Trump took another swig of beer. Suddenly, the phone started ringing.

“Mike!” Trump cried, gesturing to the phone. He was too busy holding his beer to answer it. Pence ran over, picked it up, and held it to Trump’s ear. Trump grinned, listening to the chatter on the other end. “Yep, that’s right! IT WAS ALL MEEEEEEE!” He screamed into the receiver.

Later that day, Trump and Pence were preparing to eat dinner together. Pence had been getting some weird cravings lately; he had fixed himself a bowl filled with steak, olives, pickles, asparagus, pineapple, cherries, eggs, mashed potatoes, and gravy. He took a can of squeeze cheese and squirted a huge amount atop the rest of the food. He tossed the can away and eyed the food hungrily, but then he realized it was missing something. He grabbed a box of cornflakes and stroked it sensually for a moment, then he dumped the entire contents of the box on top of the cheese. But his meal was still not perfect. He grabbed a jar of jelly and rubbed it all over his face before twisting the cap off and dumping it atop the cornflakes. Trump was sitting at the other end of the table, drumming a finger on the tabletop as he grimaced and shook his head in dismay. He glanced back at Pence and cringed when he saw him with a cutting board, hacking a wriggling live fish in two with a big butcher knife. Pence took the head of the fish and walked out onto the balcony.

“I always throw ‘em back!” He announced, hurling it over the railing and giving a wink and a wave goodbye as it fell. Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan were situated at the tower’s base and kissing passionately; Hillary and Tim had moved across the street to make out so Romney and Ryan had claimed their old spot. The two Republicans had failed to notice the fish head falling from above, and it hit Ryan, square on the head, knocking him down and making him shriek in surprise, much to Romney’s horror. Hillary and Tim pulled away from each other for a minute to point and laugh at the two, then they resumed their sloppy kissing and groping. Romney helped Ryan up, held him tight, and shot a glare at the Democrats. Romney then glanced up at the balcony, only to see Pence’s face peering over the edge.

“FUCK YOU PENCE!” He screamed, shaking his fist at the candidate. Pence flipped him off and went back inside as Romney hooked his arm around Ryan’s waist and stormed off in a huff. Pence grabbed the tail end of the fish and tossed it atop his pile of food.

“Hmm, let’s see, what goes good with fish bums?” He thought aloud. Then he got an idea. He dashed over to the fridge, colliding roughly with it, and threw open the freezer door. There was a big tub of chocolate ice cream inside. He grabbed it, tore the lid off, thrust a spoon into it, and pulled the whole frozen mass out of the container. He threw it down atop the rest of the food, leaving the spoon inside, and tossed the empty tub away. It hit Trump in the face; Trump shook his head again as Pence grabbed a bag of cream corn from the fridge and placed it on his round belly, balancing it there as he trotted back to the table. Trump looked eager for a second, thinking that Pence had retrieved the cream corn for him, but Pence ripped the bag open too roughly and cream corn spurted out everywhere. There was still a little left in the bag; Pence dumped it atop all of the other food he had gathered and tossed the bag away. He smiled happily at his bowl, then glanced over at Trump and saw that he was coated in cream corn. The bag had landed atop his head and slid off with some of the cream corn dripping from his hair. Trump was getting annoyed; he glanced over at the stove, seeing a pot boiling atop it.

“Mike, there’s something in the pot!” He snapped. Pence hurried over to the stove and smiled back at Trump.

“Thanks for reminding me, honey!” He thanked him. He blew Trump a kiss, a cartoony heart floated his way but Trump angrily punched it out of the air, shattering it. Pence removed the lid from the pot, revealing that there were several sausages inside. He took a pair of tongs and grabbed a sausage, then he wrapped his other hand around it. It was still very hot and he yelped in pain, bringing his hand away. He tossed the tongs to the side and let the sausage fall into his hand again, he juggled it for a second and blew on it to cool it off. He bit the tip off of the sausage, walked back over to the table, and squeezed the meat juices out of it and onto his food. Some of the juices spurted out in Trump’s direction and hit him in the face. He grimaced, wiped his face with his hand and then licked the juices from his palm. He rolled his eyes, withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and popped one in his mouth, holding it there as he fished his lighter out of the other pocket. Before he could light it up, the cigarette went limp, dangling loosely from his lips. Confused, Trump brought the defective cigarette down from his mouth and looked up to see Pence with two more of his cigarettes in his hands, squeezing the tobacco in them onto his food and then dropping the empty, flaccid casings on as well. Finally satisfied with the “meal”, he rubbed his hands together and prepared to dig in. However, before he could so much as take one bite, Trump came up to him from behind, placing one arm around Pence’s shoulder and letting his other hand rest on Pence’s crotch.

“Hey Mikey,” Trump cooed into his ear, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Oh! I’m eating for two now!” Pence explained, gesturing to his food.

“Oh, eating for two now? Well, help yourself!” Trump yelled as he grabbed Pence by the back of his head and slammed his face down into the food. Pence lifted his head after a moment, he started scraping various food items off of his face and eating them. When he was finished he leaned in and kissed Trump, but he burped during the kiss, much to Trump’s disgust. They went to bed soon after this ordeal; Pence was sleeping soundly and Trump was having an erotic incestuous dream about his daughter Ivanka giving him a handjob. Suddenly, he was rudely awoken from the dream by an unpleasant feeling of wetness in the bed. Glancing down, he saw that Pence’s side of the bed was soaked, and Pence was hunched over and clutching his stomach.

“Mike, don’t you think it’s a little late for golden showers?” Trump yawned groggily, rolling over to face him. “What time is it?”

“Time to go to the hospital! That’s not piss; my water broke!” The pregnant man shrieked. Trump sat bolt upright in bed and grabbed Pence by the shoulders.

“Don’t panic! Don’t panic!” He urged his spouse, though in truth Pence was quite calm and he was the one panicking. “I know what to do!” Trump dashed out of bed and immediately ran into the wall. Pence laid there helplessly with his hands still clasped over his stomach as Trump regained his composure and pulled a bag out from underneath the bed. “I’ve done this a million times!” Trump announced, throwing on a coat and hat. “Okay I’m ready!” With that he grabbed the bag and dashed out of the room, down the many flights of stairs, and outside to his limo, leaving a confused Pence behind. Trump hopped into the driver’s seat of the limo and pulled out a clipboard. “Cigarettes? Check! Scotch? Check! Overnight bag? Check!” He went through the list. Satisfied that he had remembered everything, Trump tossed the clipboard aside and began driving off. He lit up a cigarette and grinned smugly. “And you thought I’d forget something, Mike!” He laughed, puffing smoke and glancing over at the passenger seat. It was then that he realized that Mike was not accompanying him. He threw the limo into reverse and drove back to the front of Trump Tower. Leaving it running, he dashed up the stairs and back to the penthouse, where he found Pence with another bag, doubled over in pain as a contraction hit him. 

“What are you doing?” Trump cried upon seeing him. “Do you wanna be late for the birth of our first child!?” He placed his hand on Pence’s belly and frowned. “Do you want to be late for our blessed event!? Try to be more responsible, Mike!” With that, Trump grabbed Pence and gave him a hard kick, knocking him over the balcony railing. He ran back down the stairs to the limo as Pence was falling, opened the sunroof, and moved the car so that Pence would land in the passenger seat. He was off by a bit and Pence hit the hood first before bouncing into his seat, and his bag landed on top of him, hitting him in the head. “Hang on, honey!” Trump said to the dazed pregnant man as he pressed his foot hard to the pedal and sped off down the street. On the side of the road a police officer clocked him going well over a hundred and fifty miles an hour and took off after him on his motorcycle, sirens screeching all the while. Trump heard the sirens and glanced back in the rear view mirror, catching sight of the cop. “Oh crap, it’s the pigs!” He muttered in exasperation. Trump pulled the limo over to the side of the road and the officer parked behind him. The cop stepped down from his motorcycle and a very nervous Trump watched him approach in the side mirror, his large, fat figure growing ever closer by the second. He stopped in front of the driver side window, leaned in, and lifted his sunglasses, revealing him to be none other than Chris Christie, who apparently worked as a cop when he wasn’t governing or eating.

“What’s your hurry, buster?” Christie prodded Trump, glowering menacingly at him.

“Officer, this man is going to have my baby!” Trump explained, gesturing to Pence. Pence let out an agonized cry as another contraction hit him, and Christie’s glare softened into a look of concern.

“Why didn’t you say so? Follow me!” He instructed. “There’s no time to waste!” He hopped back onto his motorcycle and sped off down the road with his sirens blaring as Trump followed close behind him. They soon found themselves caught behind heavy traffic; Christie glanced back over his shoulder and saw the laboring Pence in horrible pain, and he knew that he and Trump had to get him to the hospital immediately at whatever cost. “Clear the way!” Christie shouted as he whipped out his pistol. He started firing at the tires of the cars ahead, causing the terrified occupants to scream and the cars to go spinning off the road. He slowed down a bit and came up to the driver side window of Trump’s limo once more. He locked eyes with Trump and pulled out a rifle.

“Here pal,” He said, handing the rifle to the candidate, “I’m gonna need your help!”

“Mike! Take the wheel!” Trump yelled. Pence weakly raised one foot and rested it on the steering wheel as Trump leaned out the window and joined Christie in shooting at the cars ahead. “MAKE WAY FOR NEW LIFE!” He screeched as he cocked the gun and prepared to shoot at a car coming up on his left. It was a Subaru and Bernie Sanders was driving it; upon seeing Trump with the gun Sanders shrieked and rolled up the window as a mediocre way of protecting himself. Trump fired off a shot at the front tires, leaving Bernie unharmed but causing his car to skid off the road. Pence moaned loudly in pain, still steering with his foot, and Trump ducked back into the car, shoved him aside, and grabbed the wheel. “Hold on, Mike! We’re almost there!” He announced as he and Christie continued speeding down the road, the hospital now in their sights. Trump crashed the limo into an ambulance outside and dashed into the hospital with Mike on a gurney. Christie dashed in after them firing off his guns in every which way and causing a ruckus.

“Make way for new life!” He shouted, repeating Trump’s exclamation from earlier. Eventually the commotion calmed down and two nurses whisked Pence off to a room where he could deliver. One of the nurses, dressed in scrubs and hospital slippers, was Ben Carson, who was leaning against the wall out of the way of things. The other nurse, dressed in a sexy female nurse outfit that looked like it was bought at an adult store, was Marco Rubio, who stood attentively at one side of Pence’s bed while Trump stood at the other. Pence was still in great agony, writhing and moaning beneath the sheets. Trump got a wicked grin on his face and reached down to grope Pence’s crotch, but a huge contraction hit him and he convulsed, startling Trump away. Pence panted heavily, already worn out from labor, and Trump gave him a reassuring pat on the belly.

“Hang on, baby! Wait until the doctor gets here!” Another strong contraction hit, and Pence groaned and squirmed, making Trump panic. “Nurse! Where’s the doctor.” He exclaimed, getting Nurse Rubio’s attention. Before the nurse could reply, he and Trump heard the doors to the room swing open, and they looked off in that direction. A lovestruck grin crossed Nurse Rubio’s face once he saw who had entered. It was the doctor, decked out in scrubs and a stethoscope. But this wasn’t just any ordinary doctor-it was Ted Cruz, who apparently practiced medicine in between his zodiac killings and political ambitions. Doctor Cruz approached Pence’s bed as Trump and Pence exchanged uneasy glances with each other. “Eh, Nurse?” Trump asked softly, and Nurse Rubio leaned in to hear him better. “Does this doctor know what he’s doing?” Nurse Rubio gasped, appalled that Trump would dare question his beloved doctor’s prowess.

“Sir!” He exclaimed in shock, “This doctor is known for his precision hands!” Doctor Cruz stood at the foot of the bed and rubbed his hands together, ready to operate. Nurse Rubio shot an indignant glare at Trump, who gave a nervous grin.

“Eh… he looks like he knows what he’s doing.” He laughed awkwardly. Nurse Rubio was still upset, but Doctor Cruz quickly cleared his throat, getting the attention of the nurse, Trump, and Pence.

“Ahem! Are we going to have a Sunday school discussion, or are we going to have a baby?” Doctor Cruz asked flatly.

“Uh, we’d liked to have a baby!” Trump replied, feeling uneasy under the doctor’s gaze.

“Well good,” Said Doctor Cruz, “Now let’s be professional about it alright? Okay, which one of you is pregnant?” He looked over at Trump, then over at Nurse Rubio, then back to Trump again, not sure which one of them was the pregnant patient. Trump sighed and jerked his thumb towards Pence, directing the doctor to him. Pence smiled in spite of the pain, and Doctor Cruz whipped out a stopwatch. “You ready?” He asked Pence. Pence nodded in response. “You ready?” He said again, turning to Trump. Trump flashed a confident smile and gave a thumbs up. “Let’s get it on!” With that, Pence started pushing forcefully, and Trump held his hand.

“Push, Mikey, push!” He urged his husband. Mike gave out after a few pushes and let a soft cry of pain escape his lips; Trump grew frustrated and slapped him across the face. “Push I tell you, push!” He snapped. Doctor Cruz was abhorred by his behavior. He grabbed Trump by the shoulders and cornered him against the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” He cried. “Didn’t you read it when you came in?” He pointed at an electronic sign hanging overhead, and Trump eyed it carefully. It flashed “Maternity: Please Do Not Hit Pregnant People”. Trump brought his hands to his mouth, realizing that he had fucked up, and Doctor Cruz gave him a disappointed glare.

“I’m sorry, Doctor!” Trump apologized, “I didn’t see the sign!” Doctor Cruz’s eyes narrowed, and he went back to the foot of Pence’s bed.

“Alright,” He sighed, “Let’s try this again, and this time in a civilized manner!”

“I swear I didn’t see the sign…” Trump mumbled.

“Let’s take it from the top. You, push.” Doctor Cruz said, pointing to Pence. Pence started to push again, and Trump grabbed his hand, whispering words of encouragement as he strained to get the baby out. “Push! Push!” Doctor Cruz urged him. “Come on, Mr. Pence! Let’s have it! Let’s have a baby! That’s it! Push!” As he was waiting for the baby to come out so he could catch it, Nurse Rubio strolled over to him with a clipboard in hand, a worried look on his face.

“Uh, Doctor?” He said meekly in an attempt to get the doctor’s attention, though Doctor Cruz ignored him. Nurse Rubio poked him in the side, thinking that that would alert him.

“Not now!” Doctor Cruz muttered, still focused on the birth.

“Doctor Cruz!” Nurse Rubio said again, resting his hand on the doctor’s arm.

“What is it, Nurse?!” Doctor Cruz finally asked as he threw his hands up in exasperation. He was trying to deliver a baby; he didn’t need any of his sexy nurses distracting him.

“Uh, I think you better see this,” Nurse Rubio murmured softly, showing him the clipboard, “It’s very important.” Doctor Cruz glanced down at the clipboard for a second, then lifted his head to address Trump and Pence.

“Alright, take a break!” He announced. Pence stopped pushing and relaxed while Trump stayed behind to comfort and caress him and the doctor and nurse walked off together. Nurse Rubio had pulled up some x-rays of Pence and some charts, and Doctor Cruz was studying them very intently.

“Hmm… yep, yep. Okay, I see… pretty serious, yeah.” He thought aloud as he gazed upon the information before him.

“Doctor, what’s your prognosis?” Nurse Rubio inquired. Doctor Cruz tapped his chin with his finger as he thought for a moment.

“Prognosis, prognosis… you want that prognosis, huh?” He replied. Nurse Rubio nodded and batted his eyes at the doctor, grinning a seductive grin. “Okay! Where do you want it, mouth or ass?” Doctor Cruz asked, smacking Nurse Rubio on the ass. Nurse Rubio blushed at his misconception.

“Doctor!” He squealed. “Not THAT kind of prognosis!” Doctor Cruz’s eyes went wide and a blush came to his cheeks as he realized that he had misconstrued things.

“Oh! Prognosis! Prognosis… I know exactly what you mean.” He said, folding his hands behind his back. “Alright, here it is, pay attention! I’m afraid that the patient isn’t pregnant at all. He’s just constipated!” He revealed, making the nurse gasp.

“Are you going to tell them?” Nurse Rubio asked worriedly as he and the doctor glanced back at Trump and Pence. Trump was soothingly stroking Pence’s forehead, and the scene was so serene and blessed and joyful that the doctor just couldn’t bring himself to destroy it by telling them the truth.

“Look at them…” He sighed wistfully, still gazing upon the couple.

“It’s okay, Mikey baby!” Trump gushed lovingly, cupping Pence’s cheek in his hand, “We’re almost there. Hang on baby, any minute now we’ll be daddies.” He kissed Pence lovingly on the nose, and a small smile graced the “pregnant” man’s face.

“They want this child so badly… I can’t break their hearts! I’m gonna deliver the little bastard anyways!” Doctor Cruz declared. Nurse Rubio swooned at his compassion and persistence.

“Oh, doctor!” He sighed lovingly, taking hold of the doctor’s hands and gazing into his eyes. Doctor Cruz gazed back at his darling nurse for a tender moment, but then Trump cried out, getting their attention once more.

“Doctor! Doctor!” Trump shrieked. “Help him, doctor! He’s hemorrhaging!” Doctor Cruz cast one final, longing look at Nurse Rubio, then he punched the nurse in the face, knocking him to the floor, and hurried back to tend to Pence. Nurse Rubio laid there for a second and lifted his head, a dizzy grin spreading across his features.

“That man is all zodiac!” He announced before his head hit the floor once more and he fell unconscious. Since Nurse Rubio was unable to assist at the moment, Nurse Carson stepped in to assist the doctor with the delivery. Pence was pushing again as Trump and Doctor Cruz looked on.

“That’s it! Push! Good, good! The head is coming out!” Doctor Cruz announced, and Trump rushed over to the foot of the bed to see. Trump indeed caught sight of the “head” of the baby, but to his confusion, the “baby” appeared to have brown skin. Trump grew panicked; in his mind there was only one explanation for this-Pence had cheated on him with a black man! Believing this instead of believing that Pence was simply just taking a shit, Trump decided to take his rage out on the nearest black person in the vicinity, who unfortunately just so happened to be Nurse Carson. Realizing that Trump was about to throttle him, Nurse Carson made a run for it and jumped out the window. Trump angrily shook his fist at the fleeing nurse, but he was brought out of his fury and reminded of the situation when Pence let out a loud scream.

“Mr. Trump!” Doctor Cruz called out to him. “Your husband needs your attention!” Trump rushed back to Pence’s side and held his hand tightly as he gave another push. Some of the shit came out in pieces, and Doctor Cruz quickly stuffed it into the pockets of his scrubs before Trump and Pence could notice. “Uh, Mr. Trump? Can I speak to you for a minute?” He asked uneasily, trying to think up an excuse to give to the candidate. Trump gave Pence a comforting kiss and then walked off to speak with the doctor in private. “Hey, uh, buddy, we’ve gotta talk... can you take it? Are you strong?” Doctor Cruz asked, placing his arm around Trump’s shoulders.

“Oh I can take it, Doc!” Trump exclaimed, puffing out his chest. “What’s the matter?"

“I’m afraid there’s a… complication…” Doctor Cruz admitted quietly so that Pence wouldn’t hear. A concerned expression crossed Trump’s face.

“Is it a breech birth!?” He prodded.

“Worse than that!” Doctor Cruz exclaimed. “It’s coming out in pieces!” He shoved a horrified Trump aside to finish delivering the “baby”; Pence pushed again and a few more pieces of shit came out. “We’re almost there, Mr. Pence! Just one more push!” Pence gave one final, hard push, and Doctor Cruz caught the last of the shit. He hastily turned away from Trump and Pence, who were waiting expectantly for him to hand them the baby, and attempted to fashion the shit in his hands and shit he had fished out of his pockets into the shape of a baby. When it looked sufficiently baby-like, he turned back to face them with a big grin and presented their “child” to them. Their faces lit up as they gazed upon the “baby”; they were finally parents!

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Trump asked excitedly. Doctor Cruz looked at the “baby”, unsure of what to tell them.

“Hmm… what would you like?” He finally asked. Trump and Pence looked at each other for a second before coming to a decision.

“A boy!” They replied in unison.

“Coming right up!” Doctor Cruz announced. He took the shit baby and molded it so that it looked like it had a dick, then he walked over to the side of the bed and handed it to Pence. “Mr. Trump and Mr. Pence, congratulations! It’s a goddamn boy.” Pence gingerly took the “baby” and laid it on his chest. The “baby” somehow magically came to life and started crying; Trump and Pence’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as they gazed upon their “child”. Deciding to celebrate with a smoke, Trump took out two cigarettes, popped them in his mouth, and lit them up. He took one and placed it in Pence’s mouth, and they each took a long puff as they stared down at their precious “baby”. Doctor Cruz and Nurse Rubio (who had regained consciousness by this point) were also smoking as they looked at the “baby”. Nurse Rubio took a long drag on his cigarette and leaned in close to the “child”.

“What a beautiful baby!” He breathed, spewing smoke in the “baby’s” face and making the “baby” cough. He then proceeded to take a small towel and wipe the sweat from Doctor Cruz’s brow. The doctor smiled at the sight of the happy parents and their “baby” and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You know, Nurse Rubio, I must have performed this procedure a thousand times, but there’s something about the miracle of poo that always breaks me up!” The Doctor sobbed tearfully.

“Oh, doctor!” Nurse Rubio swooned, leaning his head on Doctor Cruz’s shoulder. Doctor Cruz responded by punching him again and drying the tears from his eyes.

“What shall we name him?” Trump asked Pence. They had not yet decided upon a name for their “baby”. Pence picked up the “child” and gave him a good long look, thinking of a possible name that would suit “him”.

“How about Little Ricky?” Pence suggested, blatantly ripping off I Love Lucy. Trump beamed, pleased with the name, and gave his “baby” a pat on the head.

“Little Ricky!” He gushed.

“Didn’t I tell you, Donald? He looks just like you!” Pence smirked.

“Yeah, but he smells just like you!” Trump replied, just now noticing the unpleasant smell that their “child” possessed.

“Oh, Donald!” Pence chuckled. “You’re so sweet!” He gave the “baby” a kiss on the forehead, then he kissed Trump’s forehead, leaving what looked like a lipstick mark of shit.

“My seed…” Trump sighed lovingly, patting the “baby’s” head once more. And then they lived happily (I guess) ever after with their baby made of shit.

The End


End file.
